


Zann Dii Sil (Shout My Soul)

by Zevran_Fenris_Solas



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Skyrim Romance Mod - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Skyrim Romance, bishop - Freeform, skrim romance mod
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-06-13 18:51:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15371055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zevran_Fenris_Solas/pseuds/Zevran_Fenris_Solas
Summary: Aria Proudspire is what appears to be your standard Nord adventurer. She makes her living as a hunter on the road, and fancies herself a wanderer without a home. However, when her mother suddenly passes, taking a myriad of family secrets with her, the burial in her mother's hometown of Falkreath leaves her reeling with questions surrounding her long deceased father. Her questions lead her back to her father's hometown of Solitude, and the manor his family built there centuries ago. However, passing through the village of Helgan on her way to answers, she witnesses a dragon level an entire town. With the desperate need to inform the Jarl of whiterun of the attack, she picks up a stray wolf long the way...a very cold and removed Ranger named Bishop. What Aria doesn't know is that between the dragon and her new companion, her life will change forever.This story is my own personal take on Skyrim Romance Mod 3.1. If you are a fan of the mod but have not yet played the new version, I highly recommend you play it before you decide to read because I will be using characters and plot lines from the mod since I personally believe it provides more of a framework to use than the vanilla story.





	1. Chapter 1

The sound of thunder and wailing wind cut through the valley air as a petite young woman clad in worn leathers sprinted down a cobblestone path. A roar only comparable to some sick torment created by a furious divine shook the world beneath her feet as fire hailed from the sky below. Behind her, children wailed as mothers scooped them into their arms just before combusting. The smell of smoke and singed flesh was in the air. Stone walls crumbled to the ground beneath talons the size of mammoths, longhouses scorched and thatched roofs blazed. In an instant the peaceful village of Helgan ceased to exist.  
Aria Proudside continued to sprint away from the scene, stopping to rest only when she made it to the Guardian Stones. Her bow and quiver of arrows had never felt so heavy, and her thick copper braids had never felt so suffocating as they clung to the back of her neck. A dragon…once believed to be a legendary creature deceased for a millennium had appeared In the middle of an imperial execution that could have ended the civil war. Ulfric Stormcloak was about to be beheaded, and a mythical creature just so happened to appear at the exact location of his execution. Something just did not sit right in Aria’s gut as the realization of the afternoon’s events settled over her.  
Born and raised in the capital of Haafinar Hold, Solitude, she had experienced firsthand the lengths competing nobles would go to in order to gain more power or prestige. The Stormcloak army no doubt managed to fund some kind of conjurer to create a mass illusion of a dragon to terrorize the Imperials and help the traitor treasonous Jarl Ulfric to escape.  
As Aria leaned against the ancient divine stones catching her breath, she peered over the cliffside taking in the silhouette of the nearest village, Riverwood, against the setting sun on the horizon. Her instincts told her that if the Stormcloaks had the gall to attack the peaceful village of Helgan for political gain, they had no qualms with coming for Riverwood, and the Hold capital of Whiterun next. Jarl Balgruuf needed to be informed of the incoming attack…and soon.  
In the distance, wolves howled at the rising moons and grey clouds appeared on the horizon. A noose of impending doom snaked its way around the young Nord’s throat, threatening to tighten at any moment. Having caught her breath, her breath hitched and her blood ran cold. There was nothing she could do now but make her way to the village below and wait for the dawn, and the following day’s travel to the Reach capital.  
Upon entering the village, the heavens opened up, and the rain poured down in sheets; all that could be seen in the dark night was the warm glow of the Inn hearth a few meters ahead. With a heavy sigh and a silent prayer to Stendar that her spare clothes would stay dry wrapped in her bedroll, she made her way towards the infamous Sleeping Giant Inn…if it’s reputation held up, at least she could go to bed with a belly full of the best mead in all of Skyrim.  
A crack of thunder rattled the wooden frame of the Inn as she stepped inside. Instantly, smoky air and the welcoming smell of roasted goat wafted over her. She smiled to herself and sloshed her way to the counter where the innkeeper was taking notes on inventory. In the corner, a bard began to strum a lute skillfully, and a few older Nords sleepily drained their tankards to drown out the stress of the long work day.  
The inn keeper looked up at her from behind his leather-bound records book with a slight air of annoyance; beads of fresh rain dribbled down the side of her pauldron and plopped onto his precarious pile of parchment. She flashed an awkward toothy grin in response.  
“Uh…one room, thanks.” She mumbled.  
The inn keeper sighed heavily and fished a heavy key out of his apron pouch, “Ten Septims and it’s yours for the day.”  
She pulled the handful of coins out of her pack and took the heavy key from the impatient Nord behind the counter and made her way toward the only room that appeared to be unoccupied. Business was good for a small-town inn, perhaps the mead really was something to get excited about.  
A short while later she emerged from her room in a spare, simple wool dress, stockings, and simple leather shoes she kept in case of her armor soaking through. Her hair was damp and tussled, free from its earlier braid, falling in untidy waves that framed her face. In her leather corded belt, she kept a dagger in a shiny sheath…a warning to anyone who dare mess with her while dressed more simply. She ordered a tankard of mead and some goat, and took her place at a bench off to the side of the hearth. The evening was peaceful for the most part; a welcome reprieve from the need to save the world from an outlandish Stormcloak plot. It was when the hearth was dying down to embers, her tankard was drained, and her hair had set into loose glossy ringlets at her shoulders when suddenly her uneventful evening became unfortunately…well…eventful.  
She had just made the decision to head off to bed when a pair of piss drunk revelers made their way into the tavern. They stumbled over themselves and the furniture causing an obscene amount of racket as they made their way towards the counter. Their slurred laughter echoed off the walls of the now, very claustrophobic hall, only stopping when their eyes caught the glint of Aria’s hair in the low light of the embers.  
“Well, well, well.” One of the fools slurred, “What gift of Diabella do we have here?”  
Aria’s back stiffened, and the nearly invisible hairs on her arms stood on end. She was hyper aware of these drunken idiots, and what they were capable of if they caught her unarmored petite frame in just the right way.  
The other drunk chuckled to himself, “What a sweet, fiery beauty you are lass.” He hiccuped, “I bet you are just a little torch between the sheets.”  
She kept her expression blank, staring into her empty tankard. She learned a long time ago that dealing with men was easiest when you did not react and feed into them. She kept her mouth shut.  
“Oi! Sweetheart! How would you like to warm my bedroll tonight?”  
She continued to ignore them while simultaneously contemplating why Sanguine enjoyed turning mead into liquid courage for the fool-hearty and the insufferable.  
“Hey!” The other man growled, “My friend is talking to you, you bitch.”  
Again, she ignored them.  
“Fucking wench!” He growled, “I’ll show you to disrespect us.” He lunged forward, reaching for the laces on the front of her dress.  
In an instant, she was on her feet with her dagger unsheathed, fluidly side-stepping his attack. He stumbled forward and fell face first over the side of the bench. His feet flew into the air, and he began to kick and scream indignantly. Meanwhile, his enraged companion decided to take a solid swing at her. She easily caught his wrist in her free hand, and managed to wrangle his writing form to his knees with his arm behind his back. Her blade was held against his throat tight enough to send a trickle of blood down his chest as a warning. When the other fool found his footing again, he was horrified to find his accomplice in such a state. He reached for the longsword strapped to his back and she smiled wickedly.  
“Unsheathe your weapon, and your friend here gets his throat slit.” The man in her grasp whimpered like a pup torn from its mother, and her would-be attacker froze.  
“Drop the sword.” She ordered.  
The drunkard hesitated.  
“Now!”  
The floor shook with a loud clatter as the massive weapon hit the ground.  
“Good.” She smiled sweetly, “Now listen, and listen well you despicable bastards.” She spat, “Not every woman is a defenseless little twig who needs a man’s protection. Some of us, though seemingly fragile, were taught how defend ourselves against worms like you. Now, leave your weapons and leave this tavern before I decide to gut you and turn your bodies over to the College of Winterhold to be used in a necromancy experiment.” She removed her blade from the man’s throat and brushed the dirt off of her skirt, “And when you get home, say a prayer to Stendarr that you kept your mouths shut once you realized I had the upper hand. I was in the mood to make eunuchs out of you both.”  
She sheathed her dagger, and the men stumbled out of the inn like two frightened pups with their tails between their legs. She headed towards her rented room as if nothing had happened.  
“You…You’ve got the soul of a dragon, you do, lass.” The bard praised as she passed.  
She paused in the doorway of her room and smiled at him innocently, huge round green eyes flickering in the candle light. “Funny,” she giggled, the sound of a sleigh bell filling the room, “My mother used to say the same thing.”  
She latched the door gently and clicked the lock into place, unaware of the curious stranger watching her from a dark corner on the opposite end of the hall. A dark figure lounged coolly in a rickety chair, enveloped in shadow. Predatory golden eyes narrowed in amazement as they bore holes into her sealed door. A small smirk played at the corners of thick lips, adding a wicked aura to the sharp cheekbones and rugged stubble blanketing them. The wolf had spotted his prey, and he was not about to let it get away.


	2. Chapter 2

It was noon when Aria finally rose from her bed at the Sleeping Giant; it was the first time she had bothered to sleep in in…well…months. She rolled out from under the warm firs and dressed back into her armor for the day, half awake and hardly prepared for the nightmare the trek to Whiterun was going to entail. _If_ she made it there in one piece and wasn’t attacked by wolves or giants, and _if_ she managed to not slip off a cliff by happenstance, trying to convince the Jarl that the Stormcloaks had found a necromancer powerful enough to resurrect a dragon was going to be a challenge. She only hoped that her father’s ring, the Proudside signet ring, was enough proof of her loyalty to Skyrim and dedication to the safety of the Empire.

Once fully buckled into her leathers, she braided back her unruly curls, bypassed more roast goat in favor of a pouch of dried snowberries for breakfast, and prepared herself mentally for the trip ahead. As she stepped out onto the covered porch of the inn, she really took in the sight of Riverwood for the first time. In the early morning mist and typical Skyrim grey cloudy sky, the village was quite quaint. For a standard Nord village, it might even be considered pretty. The thatched roofs and log longhouses were as underwhelming as most, but crawled with moss and ivy. The village’s name truly spoke for itself in the sense that surrounded by wood and near to the river, it had all the moist air and comfortable shade one would expect of living in the elements. Except for the blacksmith hammering away, the water wheel on the mill clunking along, and the excited cluck of chickens when their mistress exited the house with an apron filled with morning feed…one could almost mistake the quint little town for the wilderness. She decided in that moment that this was perhaps why she liked it so much. She breathed the dense air deeply into her lungs, and pulling up her hood, set out into the fog.

She hadn’t even made it down the steps of the inn yet, and another bold and brazen young lad had the nerve to cat call her once more. With a deadly sideways glare, the bloke turned tail and fled tripping over himself. A soft and gruff chuckle behind her made her jump. She whipped around to discover its source.

               There, holding up the outside wall of the Sleeping Giant near the entrance was the very same stranger who she had overlooked the night before. Dressed in black, worn leathers with wild auburn hair and predatory golden eyes, he watched her. Besides the obvious fact that his armor was clearly ancient, Aria also happened to notice how tight fitting it was…especially in the chest. Even beneath the thick fabric and heavy buckles the distinct outline of his well defined pectoral muscles. His gloves emphasized every curve of his large muscular hands. His pants gliding along well defined calves, up to thick thighs, strong hipbones, and right down to what appeared to a well endowed…

               “You sure don’t take that crap from anyone, do you…Princess?” The stranger smiled mockingly in a gruff yet surprisingly pleasing voice, “Or perhaps nearly every man In this town is pathetic.”

               Aria cocked her brow at the man and crossed her arms defiantly across her chest, “I’m not sure what you mean by ‘I don’t take crap from anyone’. You see send one simpleton running with his tail between his legs and suddenly you think you have me figured out.”

               “Oh on the contrary, Ladyship, I saw you pummel the shit out of those two fools last night as well. If you didn’t see me there, then I was doing my job.”

               She took a step closer to the stranger, engrossed but also rather irritated by his attitude, “You mean to say you watched that whole ordeal where a lady’s life was in danger from a dark corner of the pub, and you did nothing to intervene.”

               “You seemed to have everything well under control.” He commented with a smirk, “Almost as if you have to deal with kind of behavior all the time.”

               She scowled, “My mother once told me that men are like dogs. They view you as a piece of meat and nothing more. Once they have torn you to shreds and gnawed you down to the bone, they leave the broken bits bare for others to feast on another day, like birds of carrion.”

               “Your mother sounds like a wise woman.”

               “…She was…” Aria whispered.

               “I see.” The stranger clipped.

               “No, I don’t think you do.” She snapped, “Now please tell me _Kind Sir_ , why you would merely watch a damsel in distress. What kind of gentleman does that make you.”

               “Oh I’m no gentleman, Princess.” He chuckled, “As if my looks weren’t enough to communicate that. Besides, I saw you enter the Inn long before those fools made the mistake to enter as well. You looked like a woman who could handle herself with a blade…or a bow…or a poison ring really.”

               Aria returned his mischievous smirk, curiosity alight in her eyes. She ducked back under the eves of the Inn and approached the stranger, sizing him up.

               “Oh I very well can.” She whispered deviously.

               The man straightened himself and stepped away from the wall, peering down at her through long dark lashes. She hadn’t noticed how tall he was while he was more hidden in the shadows.

               “You got a name, Princess?”

               Aria scowled, “Names only encourage friendship, and friendship only encourages dangerous choices.”

               The stranger cocked an eyebrow approvingly, “while I agree, I’d still like to know the name of the woman who saved my ass last night.”

               “Saved your ass?”

               “Yeah. If you hadn’t scared off those Idiots, I would have had to kill them for harassing the barmaid Delphine again. She’s a good woman, and she doesn’t deserve that. However, killing them would have landed me in a cell under Dragon’s Reach in Whiterun…and that is a place I hope to never see…”

               Aria could have sworn she heard him whisper a tiny “again” at the end of that sentence, but she chose to ignore it.

               “Aria.” She clipped, “My name is Aria. Aria…Sorenson.” She lied. The surname of a typical Nordic woman, nothing to obviously point to her real father or her family’s extreme wealth back in solitude. There were dozen to one Sorenson’s in Skyrim. Nothing to get her killed should this odd man be the leader of some kind of guild of bandits. He surely gave off that aura.

               “Bishop.” He nodded, but something in his mostly composed and detached face reflected a hint of surprise.

               “No surname, sir Bishop?” She prodded, “How odd.”

               “No surname I care to share.” He smirked, “Runs the risk of creating too many bonds.”

               Aria smiled, “Than well met, Bishop.” She replied formally.

               He twitched his brow as light danced mischievously in his eyes, “So now that the pointless introductions are out of the way, I must ask what you are doing here in Riverwood. I come here often, and I’ve never seen you before.”

               “I’m just passing through.”

               “Any particular destination in mind?”  
               “Beside the one I need to reach urgently? No, none in particular after that.” She scowled once more, “Why?” She asked darkly.

               “I’m looking for a little help with a favor.”

               “I swear to the divines, if you ask me to help you ‘polish your sword’ I will gut you here and now.”

               Bishop’s composed face cracked and roars of laughter escaped his lips. By the time he was done, he was actually grabbing his sides. “Hear that one often?” he chuckled.

               Aria needed not speak for him to know the answer.

               “No ladyship, If my ‘sword needed polishing’ I’d either take care of that chore myself or be a hell of a lot more forward and not even bother with a euphemism. That just gets in the way of the point.” Suddenly the light drained from his eyes, and his face became a serious mask once more, “No. I need help hunting down a companion of mine.”

               “An ex-lover?” Aria asked playfully.

               Bishop’s face only darkened, “If only. No. My friend, Karnwyr, was kidnapped by a band of bandits who have taken a liking to pit fighting wolves against captive travelers who are stupid enough to either sleep out in the open, or are too poor to pay their tolls. Sometimes they even take those who do pay their tolls simply because they know they can overpower them. Bandits are cowards who deserve nothing better than my blade across their throats.” He growled, “Much as I hate to admit, I can’t take on a whole band of these bastards on my own. Not in a confined area where they know the turf anyway. I need help, and I was actually waiting here in Riverwood for a few of the Companions, mercenaries of Whiterun’s fighter’s guild, to pass through on their way back from Helgan. They should have been back by now, but they aren’t and I met you…who are clearly capable with a blade of your own. And perhaps a bow as well…if that quiver on your back says anything about you. It’s Dwemer…not easily come by.”

               “Helgan is gone.” Aria stated matter-of-factly, “Any members of the Companions who were there probably died in the attack.”

               “The attack?”

               “Which brings me to my next point,” Aria continued, ignoring Bishop, “That I have a quest of my own that I admittedly cannot proceed with on my own. I need to speak with the Jarl of Whiterun. I too was passing through Helgan on my way north from Falkreath, and witnessed a Stormcloak execution. Rather, wat should have been an execution…of Ulfric Stormcloak. The civil war could have ended then and there, but naturally the king killing bastard pulled a wild card out of his sleeve. I believe he has either some fierce illusionists, or some horrendously powerful necromancers on his side. Helgan was leveled by none other than a dragon.”

               Bishop looked at her skeptically.

               “You can choose not to believe me if you so wish but I have reason to believe that the Jarl of Whiterun will. I will not explain that either. Anyway, as I am sure you are aware due to the recent kidnapping of your friend, the roads of Skyrim are not exactly safe as of late. I may be able to handle myself in more minor situations, but the road to Whiterun Is a well-known trade route. As a traveler, and especially as a woman, the trek is dangerous to take on alone. Accompany me to Whiterun, and I will help you get your wolf back.”

               Bishop’s eyes widened in shock, “How did you…I never said Karnwyr was a wolf.”

               Aria smiled a wry smile, “You aren’t nearly as mysterious as you think…ranger.”


	3. Chapter 3

The trek to Whiterun was simultaneously as dangerous and beautiful as expected. By Simply following the path before them, Bishop and Aria truly took the scenic route. Crossing over roaring rivers, traipsing through dense woods and clamoring up rocky ledges meant a setting that epitomized the phrase “beauty is pain.” Aria hated to admit it to herself but Bishop’s knowledge of the terrain, which he had failed to disclose to her before venturing out, subtly saved her in more ways than one. Thankfully, the ranger knew which rocks were stable to climb on, which bushes caused rashes, and which caves concealed giant spiders. Aria was happy to allow another to lead her through these dangerous situations. Naturally, there were also a few bandits who had made camp along the road. None of them seemed to be the Bandits Bishop was tracking, but the pair made quick work of them all the same.

               It was not long in their journey before Aria began to notice Bishop. That’s not to say she hadn’t noticed him before; however now, she was truly noticing him. He was positively lethal. The sheer power behind his strong arms and rippling pectorals when he drew back the taught string of his well-worn bow. The arrows he whipped from the quiver on his back were handmade, yet far more sharp and deadly than any arrow she had had the displeasure to be shot past her head before. There were a few times she was in the line of fire, and she could have sworn she would be the unwitting victim of his archery expertise, yet every time the arrow whizzed past her ear and struck its mark right in the eye of the bandit behind her and through their brain. Bishop was a man with an eagle eye who wasted no time and no arrows. He was a man of a one hit kill.

               It was twilight when they approached the farmland on the outskirts of White run. The imposing silhouette of Dragon’s Reach could be made out just on the horizon. Crossing the bridge near the meadery, Bishop came to a sudden halt.

               “We should find a safe place to camp for the night.” His voice was gruff and his eyes darted across the open fields cautiously. He subtly sniffed the air and crossed his arms over his chest.

               Aria spun around to face him, “Are you mad!? The city is just across the plane, we can find an inn and meet with the Jarl in the morning.”

               “Crossing the plane at the hour is a gamble,” Bishop insisted, “There will be wolves about trying to reach the sheep while the farmers head off to bed. We’ve had a long day and I’m not sure either of us is up to fighting off an entire pack of wolves.”

               “What about supper? I don’t know about you, but I’m famished.”

               “I can get us a couple rabbits before nightfall. It won’t be much but we will enter the city in the morning with at least something in our stomachs.”

               “Bishop, these are the Jarl’s lands. That would be poaching.”

               “Poaching she says.” He growled to himself, “Listen here sweetness, the Jarl isn’t going to miss a couple of rabbits.”

               “That may be, but if we get caught, neither of us is going to be able to save your wolf if we are locked in the dungeon of Dragon’s Reach.”

               Bishop huffed and rolled his eyes, “You make a fair point this time, Princess, but if we are headed for the city we better get the lead out of our asses. I still do not want to get between a pack of wolves and their potential prey.”

               Aria smiled smugly and headed for the city gates. She trudged up the cobblestone path towards the gates of Whiterun. She was exhausted and her legs were about as stable as pulled taffy…though she refused to allow it to show. Her towering companion followed a few paces behind, shoulders tense and fingers casually grazing the dagger at his hip as his eyes scanned the tree line.  In the distance, wolves howled at the rising moons and Aria shivered at the thought of them sprinting across the horizon. Much as she may gripe about camping outside the city limits when the walls were so close, she had to agree with Bishop: neither of them had the stamina to fight off a hungry pack in this state.      

               When the first city guard was in sight, her foot caught on a cobblestone and she slipped. She almost fell backward on her arse and rolled back down the massive hill she had just trudged up, but Bishop caught her but the collar of her shirt and steadied her. There was no hiding her exhaustion now, she was making careless mistakes.

               “Sorry.” She mumbled as she steadied herself.

               Her companion simply huffed in response, starting to sound more like a wolf now himself.

Shortly thereafter, they finally made it to the city Gates, but Luck had escaped her…

“Halt.” The Whiterun guard stepped in front of them, “The city is closed with the dragons about. Official Business only.”

“You have got to be kidding me…” Bishop growled, “See Princess, I told you…”

“Hush!” Aria raised her hand signaling Bishop to shut the hell up before nodding at the guard, “I was in Helgan, I saw the dragon attack.”

“No one survived Helgan.” The guard eyed her skeptically and she rolled her eyes.

“You may not believe that, but I did. Furthermore, Riverwood calls for the Jarl’s aid.”

“Riverwood is in danger too? The Jarl will want to see you right away…”

“Indeed.” 

The first thing Aria noticed about Whiterun was its quaintness. For a large city it still carried the charm of the thatched roofs and wooden gates of the rest of Whiterun hold. Furthermore, if the clucking and mooing was any indication, the city carried the charm of the livestock as well. Although why anyone would want to keep livestock within city limits was beyond her. The streets were quite for a city which was also rather unusual, although it was probably too early for drunkards to be about as the sun had just set not more than an hour before. Overall, it was beautiful but underwhelming especially considering her upbringing.

“We need to find an Inn.” She groaned aloud as the exhaustion of the day finally began to grab hold of her. “I am in desperate need of some warm furs and a stiff drink.”

“And a bath.” Bishop sniffed.

“Excuse me!”

He ignored her and took the lead, “There should be an Inn not far from here, although the name escapes me…I’ve only been to Whiterun once.

“What about ‘The Drunken Huntsmen’? That’s a pub name if I’ve ever heard one.”

Bishop chuckled, “Deceiving, I know, but that is actually a fletching shop…well a fletching shop that also happens to serve mead. The only one in Skyrim of its kind.”

“Gee, I can’t imagine why. Whos bright idea was it to combine archery and alcohol… that sounds like a trip to the temple of Arkay waiting to happen.”

“And here I thought you understood us rangers…”

Aria glared at the back of her companion’s head as he trudged forward towards the market square.

“The Bannered Mare…that’s the name…I always think it’s the Battered mare…”

“What the hell? What is wrong with you!?”

“It’s an Inn sweetness, I’m surprised I even remember the mare part of the name considering how far gone I was last time I was here.”

“Men.”

Bishop used his shoulder to push open the inn door and strode in like he owned the place. Thankfully, no one paid any mind to his open display of arrogance besides the barkeep. She smiled at him from across the room and approached welcomingly while wiping her hands on her apron.

“Welcome to the Bannered Mare, what can I do for you.”

“We need two rooms for the night, and a hot bath if you have one ready.”

Aria rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry, all we have is one double room, the rest of the rooms are taken.”

“Dibs!” Aria shouted, “There is no way in Oblivion…”

“We’ll take it.”

“We? Excuse me Bishop but I’m not…”

“And the bath?”

The barkeep smiled warmly, “ We just heated one up, no one has used it yet.”

“Perfect.” He turned to Aria, “Head up to the room and get ready for a bath. You go first, I’ll go later.”

She stared at him with pursed lips and a slight flush as rage bubbled in her chest.

“Go.” He ordered.

“No. Fucking. Way. I am not sharing a room with some strange man and I will not take a bath in some pub where there could be perverts that walk in at any time!”

“I’ll keep watch.”

“Excuse me!?”

Bishop sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, “For perverts. I’ll keep watch for perverts. Now your royal pain in the ass, if you are done bitching there Is a less hot than five minutes ago bath waiting for you.”

She glared at him for a moment before turning on her heel and stalking up the stairs after the barkeep to her temporary shared room.

“women…” Bishop mumbled to himself.

Aria ducked into the bathchamber a few minutes later wrapped in a knee-length towel. Bishop stood guard outside the doorway as he had promised. His eyes glided over her half-naked form, making her feel very aware of how one snagged bit of cloth on a splinter could make his fantasy a reality. She blushed slightly, but held her head high and held his gaze stubbornly as she slipped behind the partition and out of her towel. She slid beneath the water’s surface and submerged herself in the warm water for a moment before emerging and reaching for the complimentary soap the barkeep had given her. It smelled of lavender and elvesear. It was peaceful in the bathchamber behind the partition. The sounds and smells of the tavern faded into the background as white noise as her sore muscles slowly relaxed…she hated to admit it, but maybe she did need this after the day she had. She was finishing up rinsing the thick lather from her hair when she heard a noise outside the doorway…Bishop’s cough.

“Excuse me.” Came a snippy voice in reply, “I’m sorry, I am trying to reach the bathing chamber.”

“Not likely.” Bishop responded shortly, “Not with that vial in your hands you aren’t.”

“It’s lavender oil.” Came the shrill voice once more.

“Um no, I have enough friends in interesting places to know that that is a vial of watered down frostbite venom…not enough to kill, but enough to make a person very very sick if it were to somehow slip into their bathwater and seep into their skin.”

“What are you accusing me of!?”

“Look, flea, I’ve  been watching you watching me since I entered this damnable place.”

“You have!?” The voice was surprised and hopeful.

“Yes, I have…I’ve also seen the way you watched her, with contempt and jealousy in your eyes. I am no fool, flea, I know what you are up to.”

There was a heavy pause, “How dare you accuse me…”

“I know Brynolf from a long time ago, and I recognize his guild’s armor…once more, I am no fool. Mess with her, or mess with me and not only will you get the ass-kicking of a lifetime and spend the evening in Dragonsreach, but you will also have to face the consequences once Mercer finds out what you are up to...and I can’t imagine he’d be too happy about that.”

“I….What makes her so special!? Why walk in here and spend the night with some whore who clearly doesn’t want you when you could have me?”

“Because you are a flea, a parasite, who saw me walk in here and only wants to cling to me because you think I can offer you some kind of money, protection, or sexual pleasure. You don’t care about me, you care about image and some other form of something I cannot name, and like a flea once you have sucked me dry you will move on to the next one. I’m not having that. Leave this place now, and I will forget this conversation ever happened, stay a moment longer and you will regret it.”

The woman talking to Bishop dug her dagger into the wall beside him and stomped off, presumably to leave the Inn.

Aria emerged from behind the partition wrapped in her towel and stared at Bishop, “I can’t believe she tried to poison me to get to you…that kind of thing only happens in books.”

“Welcome to my life sweetness.” Bishop grumbled as he snatched the soap from her hand and made his own way to the bathchamber.

 


	4. Chapter 4

“You know, for a ranger who is apparently used to sleeping in the wilds and avoiding random attacks by wolves and bears, you sure do snore obnoxiously loud.” Aria complained as she trekked through the streets of Whiterun with the minor headache lack of sound sleep can cause.

               Bishop rolled his eyes, “Oh, I’m sorry Princess, did my snoring keep you awake last night? It would have been a lot quieter had I taken the bed, but it’s okay your highness, I’m glad you didn’t wake up with a back ache.”

               “You chose to take the floor.”

               “Because it was the chivalrous thing to do.”

               “Chivalry!? You made me share a room with you after only knowing you for less than a day and told me I needed a bath, and you want to talk about chivalry!?”

               “The bath comment was a slight to your instable muscles sweetness, not your hygiene. Those hills would have been killer for a person not used to climbing them. Your legs must have hurt like hell.”

               Aria stopped short and stared at him with an open mouth, “I…”

               Bishop raised his eyebrows at her tauntingly.

               She narrowed her eyes for a moment before stomping past him towards the massive staircase leading to Dragon’s Reach. Bishop followed close behind with a bemused smirk. When they reached the gate to the Jarl’s palace, he placed his hand on her shoulder.

               “Look, I think I’m going to wait outside…Jarls and politics aren’t really my thing.”

               “Afraid the steward will recognize you from a bounty poster, ranger?” Aria teased.

               Bishop pursed his lips and glared at her for a moment, “I’ll be out here if you need me.”

               “Suit yourself.” She shrugged before the guard opened the gate.

* * *

 

               Nearly an hour later, Aria emerged from the palace annoyed and rather flustered, her rugged companion nowhere to be found.

               “I’ll be here if you need me, my ass…” she mumbled under her breath, storming down the steps towards the rest of the city “Fool is probably down at the pub drinking away the afternoon and our travel funds.”

               She stopped short as Bishop finally came into view. The ranger was climbing the rocks just above the shrine of Talos with a group of the village children carrying suspicious looking buckets.

               “…The Imperial machine enforces the will of the Thalmor against its own people! So, rise up! Rise up children of the Empire! Rise up Stormcloaks! Embrace the word of mighty Talos! He who is both man and divine!...” a priest raved just below them, “…For we are the children of man, and we shall inherit both heavens and Earth. And we, not the elves and their toddies, will RULE SKYRIM!!! FOREVER!!! Talos the mighty! Talos the…” 

               Bishop glanced over his shoulder at a Redguard girl behind him and smirked. With a nod, they released the contents of their pails upon the head of the priest before scrambling down the rocks giggling like the insufferable troublemakers they were. The priest stopped his raving short and glared in the direction of the ranger.

               “Guards!” He called, “Arrest this imbecilic for obstructing the word of the divine!”

               A guard sauntered over and shrugged his shoulders, “I am sorry Heimskr, but we cannot arrest a man for harassing a priest when you are no longer technically a priest. The Empire has outlawed Talos worship…”

               “No longer a priest!? This is what I was saying good people of Whiterun! The Thalmor have infiltrated even your local government! Today it’s your religion, tomorrow it’s your children! And I for one, will not stand…”

               Bishop rolled his eyes and slipped a septim to the child before finding Aria in the crowd that had gathered at the base of the steps to the palace.

               “What the hell was that about!?” She demanded, “How old are you!?”

               Bishop smirked and shrugged, “Braith says that lunatic has been raving outside the palace for weeks now. I stood here for nearly an hour listening to him and even I knew it was time someone shut him up.”

               “I don’t think you shut him up, and furthermore, who the hell is Braith!?”

               Bishop chuckled mildly and pushed his way through the crowd, winking at the child as she ran off. “Jealous are we, Princess?”

               “Just answer the question, I am in no mood for your horse-shite.”

               Bishop’s smirk became even more cheeky, “Braith, for your information, was the little girl. She was harassing some kid named Lars, and in order to break it up I asked her about the lunatic. She told me he’s been preaching that end of times, apocalyptic nonsense since the civil war started and we decided it was about time he shut the hell up.”

               “You are such a bad influence.”

               “Thank you. Now, judging by the fact that the stick up your ass seems to be in deeper than normal, I’m going to assume that things did not go well with the Jarl. Let me guess, he wants you admitted for some kind of testing at the shrine of Kynareth downtown.”

               Aria pursed her lips and bit back a snarky comment, “On the contrary ranger.”

               Bishop stopped short just outside the home for sale next to _The War Maiden_ , “So he did believe you.”

               “Yes.”

               “So why the hell are you in such a pissy mood? You told the Jarl about the dragon attack and now we can be well on our way to The Rift to get my wolf back.”

               “Not quite…”

               “What do you mean ‘not quite’…” Bishop snarled.           

               “We have a bit of a…side quest.”

               “What. Kind. Of. Side quest.”

               “The Jarl wants me to find something called a Dragon Stone. Apparently, this ancient artifact might be able to explain where the dragons are coming from as well as how to defend against them. Its last known location was some kind of ancient crypt called Bleak Falls Barrow.”

               “No way!” Bishop shook his head furiously, “I don’t care if Tiber Septim himself asked us to go tracking down this stone, we aren’t going. It will take too long, and my wolf will be long dead by the time we get out of there… _IF_ we get out of there…only greedy fools looking for treasure enter those crypts and ninety percent of the time they never leave the damn place. They are boobytrapped, full of frostbite spiders, draugher and all sorts of other unpleasant things I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.”

               Aria rolled her eyes, “Scared of some giant spiders are we…now who’s the princess…”

               Bishop growled at her.

               “Look, the Jarl asked me specifically to take care of it. I am the only person in Skyrim who has come face-to-face with a dragon and lived, therefore I am probably the only person to get out of Bleak Falls Barrow alive. He doesn’t have time to mess about and send several platoons of men in looking for this thing. The hold is in danger and all of Skyrim could be too. As for your wolf’s life being at risk…if he’s as stubborn as you are, I doubt they have killed him off yet. The fools probably think they can turn him into their own personal attack dog. Besides, favors for the Jarl have perks. Maybe he can secure a few horses for our trip to The Rift.”

               Bishop huffed, “Fine. But one pitstop only. I didn’t sign up to be your sell-sword, princess.”

               Aria rolled her eyes and headed toward the smaller mountains to the south of the city.

* * *

 

               Needless to say, it was another long and difficult day. The terrain of Skyrim was not well known for its ease of travel, and was once again rough on the bodies and minds of two well-traveled life-long residents. Thankfully Aria’s natural clumsiness was under better control today, and there was only one time in which she almost fell down the side of the mountain. Bishop continued to be unimpressed by her lack of balance, and even more so of her tendency to nearly wind up rolling down the same hill she just climbed. It was a tense and strenuous journey, and it took the better part of the morning.

               By the time they reached the Barrow, it was already mid-day and Bishop was once more unamused.

               “Let’s get this over and done with. The sooner we get in and out of this crypt, the better chance we have of making it down the mountain by nightfall and back to the city by midnight.”

               “Gee, I wonder if someone is eager to get out of here.”

               “Look Princess, any native to Skyrim knows that Barrows and Redoubts are chuck full of treasure, yet so many are untouched even to this day. There is a reason for that. The way I see it, there are only two types of people who chance these places: fools, and the suicidal. You want to die and have no one ever know where you went, these are the places to be.”

               Aria crossed her arms and stuck out her hip, “that’s very reassuring…in fact, I’d say…”

               She was cut off by the sound of an arrow whizzing past her ear and planting in a snow bank just to her right. She pursed her lips and dropped to a crouch at the same time as Bishop.

               “Bandits.” He whispered under his breath, “Shit.”

               Another arrow whizzed past Bishop’s shoulder, clipping his pauldron and burying itself in the pristine canvas beside him.

               “I knew this ‘side quest’ of yours was a bad idea. We are sitting ducks. They have the high ground, and everything around us is blanketed in white. There is nowhere to hide.”

               Another arrow planted in the snow a foot from Aria’s shin. She snarled and whipped the bow off her back, pulling an arrow taught and judging her shot on the archer atop the ruin before them.

               “You wanted to make this quick and take the trip in broad daylight. I suggest you start living with the consequences of that choice.”

               She released the arrow and it split the air with frightening force, planting itself swiftly and unexpectedly in the left eye socket of the offending archer. Even with a distance of 100 yards between herself and the bandit, she could clearly see the blood spatter on the snowbank below him before he tumbled head first over the ledge, dead.  Bishop’s face contorted in surprise before another offending arrow planted in his gauntlet. He snarled and broke the arrow off at the base of the tip before whipping his own bow from his back.

               Aria had already strung and released another arrow of her own, watching as it once more split the air with frightening speed, headed for the second offending archer standing atop the ruin. Her arrow missed, ricocheting off the corner of a stone pillar the archer ducked behind at the last moment, and bouncing non-threateningly to a halt at his feet. The bandit poked his head around the corner and strung another arrow of his own. This time, it was Bishop’s arrow that caught the bandit in the side of the head and sent him tumbling down the ruin’s steps with a clatter of loose stones and ruble.

               Aria scowled, and proceeded forward slowly, still crouched and watching for any signs of movement atop the ruin’s ledge before them.

               “I doubt that was the last of them.” She muttered.

               “No, those were just the scouts.” Bishop confirmed, following her lead, “Good news is that bandits usually only have a few scouts. Bad news is, they probably sent a third ahead to warn the others.”

               “Of course…”


End file.
